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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831127">Disposable Entertainment</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximumMarygold/pseuds/pansexualorgana'>pansexualorgana (MaximumMarygold)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Little Nightmares (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Horror Elements, Least of all me, Like A LOT of speculation, Little Nightmares II Spoilers, Little Nightmares Spoilers, M/M, Memory Loss, No one knows what the fuck is going on, Post-Canon, Roy Mustang is a sap, Speculation, Truth is an asshole, no beta we die like men, sketchy science</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:07:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,391</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29831127</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaximumMarygold/pseuds/pansexualorgana</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There was static inside of Edward's head -- he couldn't think.<br/>It was this place, it had to be. There was something wrong with it; something sick and twisted. It was seeping into their pores, curling around their ribs and staining their lungs.</p><p>Across the world, on the other side of The Pale City, the Thin Man watched. There were eyes everywhere, of course. Whether he wanted them to be or not. It was curious, he thought, he couldn't remember if one of them had been blonde before, he didn't think they had been. But he also knew somewhere deep beneath the static that flickered across his skin like the remnant of a warm touch, that he'd seen that shade of gold before.</p><p>There was something strange about This time. He couldn't see the Before. He could always see The Before. It's what he did; he sat, and he waited, and he watched. </p><p>After all, this had all happened before.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alphonse Elric &amp; Edward Elric, Alphonse Elric &amp; Edward Elric &amp; Winry Rockbell, Alphonse Elric/Winry Rockbell, Edward Elric &amp; Roy Mustang, Edward Elric/Roy Mustang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Disposable Entertainment</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i just finished little nightmares ii and when i tell you that shit hurt my FEELINGS</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Al scrambled across the countertop, careful of the bottles and cans that littered the surface. He didn’t want to draw anything’s attention into the kitchen. A running leap had him catching the handle of the large ice box; after a moment of resistance it reluctantly tilted downwards, swinging the door open with a lackluster rush of almost cool air that stunk to high heaven and settling Al at a comfortable height to let himself drop to the floor without risk of injury. </p><p>Being twelve inches tall made it easier to hide from the monsters that lurked around every corner, sure, but it also meant that he was doing a lot of climbing, swinging, and jumping. </p><p>And wiggling; there was much more wiggling involved than he would have assumed. He had to wiggle to get through gaps, and wiggle to get enough lift on his swing, and wiggle to get his bottom half through the open window of the strange cabin in the woods.</p><p>It was the first <em> structure </em>he’d seen since he managed to escape the crumbling cityscape to the west; he’d been wading his way through calf deep leaves and climbing across rocks for the better part of a day and a half. It was almost a relief to have a roof over his head; at least nothing could take a swipe at him from above. </p><p>Down the hall he padded, feet bare, filthy, and silent on the rotting wood. He eyed the stairs suspiciously; the cabin seemed to be deserted but in the thirty something hours since the Gate had unceremoniously spit him out in the middle of nowhere, in a body that appeared to be his, just… smaller, and sans his brother, he’d learned very quickly not to trust <em> anything </em> to be as it seemed.</p><p>What if the stairs creaked? What if they groaned under his, arguably negligible, weight and something came running? </p><p>Pursing his lips, his gaze turned to the bannister. It looked sturdy enough and his lips spread in a slow smile. </p><p>When he touched down at the bottom of the staircase, Al froze. Music? In a place like this? He pivoted slowly on the toes of his right foot, the left still hovering above the floor. </p><p>The song was almost familiar; it was tinny and quiet but if he focused hard enough he could see long, pale fingers dancing over ivory keys. He should run in the opposite direction as fast as his tiny legs could carry him. He should run, and run, and keep running until he collapsed from exhaustion.</p><p>Instead, he took one careful step towards the sound. Then another.</p><p>He wished he had alchemy. He wished he had a <em> gun </em>. He wished he had his brother.</p><p>His ear pressed to the door to the right of the stairs, Al took a deep breath and tried to push. The wood didn’t so much as squeak in protest. He pushed harder. Nothing, nothing, nothing.</p><p>The music was so close he could taste it. It was like an itch in the back of his brain and he just couldn’t <em> reach </em> , the kind that shows up at the very back of your ear and the only thing that helps is to swallow but it doesn’t do <em> enough </em>.</p><p>Desperation flared. There was an open door at the other end of the hall. Bare feet slapped against the floor, no longer silent in his frantic sprint. Maybe there was something he could use; a hammer or a pipe or… or an ax.</p><p>That’ll work.</p><p>He couldn’t reach the handle from the ground, but there was an awfully convenient box he could drag across the floor. The damn ax was heavy; it nearly crushed him when it finally came free of the wall and then it scraped against the floor in a way that made his head <em> throb </em>as he dragged it back down the hall.</p><p>The pounding in his temples ebbed and flowed with the gentle tune from behind the door. He wanted it to <em> stop </em>. He wanted to listen to it forever. He wanted to pull the keys from the piano one by one and grind them to dust. He wanted to tattoo the notes on the inside of his eyelids.</p><p>
  <em> One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> A, D, F, E. A, D, F, E. A, C-sharp, G, E. A, C-sharp, G, E. </em>
</p><p>Al’s muscles screamed as he lifted the ax as high as he could when the damn thing was taller than he was, and he swung.</p><p>The music stopped with the first muted <em> thunk </em>as the blade struck wood. The second swing had something clattering across the floor; the flutter of cloth.</p><p>There was someone in there.</p><p>His breath rattled in his chest; the axe was so heavy and he was so tired. Without the music there to urge him on, he had a moment to wonder why it was so important to get to the other side of the door.</p><p>He couldn’t say. It just was. </p><p>Three swings, four. Thunk after thunk. Until the wood was splintered and he could see into the dim room beyond. </p><p>A flash of golden hair. The gleam of lamplight against metal as automail fingers curled around the table leg. Lion’s eyes peeking out from under tangled bangs. </p><p>
  <em> Ed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Ed. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> EdEdEdEdEdEd-- </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Edward! </em>
</p><p><em> “ </em>Brother!” The shattered wood dug into his hands and scratched harshly at his skin as Al scrambled through the door, arms held out in front of him, “Ed! Brother!”</p><p>“Al...phonse?” Ed blinked; he was too skinny and covered in grime. His pants were in tatters and his hair was hanging limp around his shoulders, but his eyes shone brightly as Al staggered fully into the room. “Al!”</p><p>They collided like stars in the center of the floor; twisted around each other, two parts of the same whole, coiled like the molecules that made up their shared DNA. </p><p>Someone was crying; maybe both of them. They’d only been separated a day, they’d faced worse in the lead up to The Promised Day. But this was different.Then they had alchemy, they had allies, they had a world that made <em> sense </em>.</p><p>Here they were small, they were powerless, they were alone. All they had was each other and for thirty terrifying hours, they hadn’t even had that.</p><p>“Where were you?” Ed asked, breath coming too fast, too ragged, too close to gasping to really be called <em> breathing </em>.</p><p>“Looking for you, dummy,” Al said back, squeezing his brother tighter, “We have to get out of here.”</p><p>Ed nodded jerkily, “Careful,” he whispered, “The Hunter.”</p><p>Wincing, Al pulled away and linked his fingers with Ed’s flesh hand. He hadn’t seen The Hunter. Not yet. But if it was enough to have Ed’s lips trembling in fear then it had to be terrible. His brother had punched <em> God </em>in the face and walked away grinning. </p><p>“We’ll be careful,” he promised, “but we have to go. We have to get home. We have to get back to--” to who? </p><p>Someone was missing them; Al was sure of it. More than one someone. People. People who were important. </p><p>But why couldn’t he remember their names?</p><p>He could see them; he could see <em> her. </em>Hear her.</p><p>Hair a few shades lighter than Ed’s; eyes the color of cornflowers in bloom. </p><p>A laugh.</p><p>A kiss.</p><p>The strange, unfamiliar haze in Ed’s eyes started to clear, “Winry,” he said, clumsily, like he’d never spoken the name aloud before, and Al’s heart <em> contracted </em>, “Roy.”</p><p>Roy? Roy? </p><p>Fire. Flame.</p><p>Mustang!</p><p><em> Winry </em>. </p><p>Al looked at his free hand, his left hand. His eyes landed on the thin gold band and he thought, for a long moment, that he was going to vomit right then and there. Winry! WinryWinryWinry. He’d forgotten her name! He’d almost forgotten her entirely. </p><p>His <em> wife. </em></p><p>Ed’s expression twisted into something as stricken as Al felt. They’d both forgotten the people closest to them, besides each other.  Al clenched his brother’s hand tighter. </p><p>What else were they forgetting? </p><p>It was this <em> place </em>, it had to be. There was something wrong with it; something sick and twisted. It was seeping into their pores, curling around their ribs and staining their lungs.</p><p>“We’ll write it down,” he said, squeezing Ed’s hand once more before letting go to haul himself up, first onto a chair and then onto the desk. He couldn’t find paper, but there was a swath of light colored cloth he could use. </p><p>If he could find a pen.</p><p>Or, he figured, gaze landing on the wooden shrapnel from his violent entry, he could <em> make </em>a pen.</p><p>Ed watched him, curious, arms tight around himself, every muscle in his body tense as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Ready to fight. Ready to run.</p><p>Right.</p><p>He could do this; Ed had spent <em> so long </em> trying to be the strong one, trying to shoulder the entire world to keep Al safe. Keep <em> everyone </em>he cared about safe. </p><p>It was about time someone else got to return the favor, he figured. About time someone looked out for <em> Ed </em>.</p><p>He had to be quick, initially. The second Ed caught on to what he was going to do he would try to stop him.</p><p>With deft fingers, Al selected a thin, sharp sliver of wood that seemed to be at least… passably un-rotten. He spread the scrap of fabric out flat and eyed the available surface area critically -- he would have to write small. But it was doable. He’d worked with worse.</p><p>The noise that Ed made when Al used the edge of the wood to slice into his palm broke his heart; strangled and broken, dragged out of his throat across barbed wire and shattered glass. Clammy, shaking flesh fingers wrapped around Al’s wrist and he obligingly let his brother drag his bleeding hand over for inspection.</p><p>Ed whined again when Al dipped the point of his makeshift pen into the growing puddle of his own blood and began to write.</p><p>
  <em> Don’t Forget: </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Amestris.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Alchemy. </em>
</p><p><b> <em>Mom</em> </b> <b>.</b></p><p>
  <em> Edward. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Alphonse. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Winry. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Roy. </em>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Get. Home.</em> </b>
</p><p>With such a small space to work with that was really all he could fit without compromising the integrity and legibility of the writing, but it should be enough. It covered the important bits:</p><p>Where they were from. The power they used to have. The reason for everything they did. Their names. The names of the people they cared about the most. Their goal.</p><p>All scribbled in Al’s blood on a scrap of fabric small enough to shove into his pocket. Proud at his quick thinking, he showed it to his brother.</p><p>“So we don’t forget,” he told him.</p><p>Ed’s eyes scanned the words quickly, lightning fast neurons firing, cataloging and memorizing, turning the words around inside of his skull. After a long moment, he nodded.</p><p>“This place,” he whispered, “it’s bad. There’s… static.” He brushed his metal fingers against his temple, “I can’t <em> think </em>.”</p><p>Al frowned, lips curling down, down, down and his eyebrows furrowing inward, creasing the otherwise smooth skin of his forehead, “Static?” He asked, because he didn’t feel anything like that. </p><p>He felt vaguely… sick. Wrong. A little dizzy, maybe? But he wouldn’t classify any of that of as <em> static </em> . He could think just fine, in the moment, it was his memory that was taking a hit. And that was easy, that he could combat. That he <em> did </em>combat, on less than a square foot of pale burlap and a dollop of blood. </p><p>“It’s like a buzzing,” Ed shook his head like he was trying to dislodge whatever was causing the problem with brute force, “In the back of my head. You don’t hear it?”</p><p>“No,” but he was sure worried about it, “but I don’t like it.” They <em> needed </em>to get out, “Come on.” </p><p>Realistically, they would be more noticeable now that there were two of them but Al didn’t <em> care </em> . Ed’s fingers were slotted between his as they ducked from cover to cover, boosting each other up and over obstacles that <em> should </em>have been knee height at most. Into the attic and back out. From room to room. Avoiding the creaky floor whenever possible.</p><p>Ed skid to a halt, stopping Al in his tracks seconds before he heard the smooth, steady grind of a blade being sharpened. His brother’s lips were pale, pressed together to try and prevent them from shaking. </p><p>Slowly, Al peaked around the corner. </p><p>The first thing he saw was the crumpled white shirt, stained with blood and dirt; torn and tattered around every edge. Dark pants, the color indecipherable in the dim light. There was a sack? Over his head. The same material as the fabric reminder in Al’s pocket. One eye hole. A had with a wide brim in the front.</p><p>The Hunter, if he had to guess.</p><p>But he was… familiar. In a strange, foreboding kind of way. The way that Al knew, instinctively, that an array was dangerous even if he’d never seen it before. Al knew, even before the Hunter turned, that something was <em> wrong </em>.</p><p>The glint of the stars on his shoulder was what put all the pieces together and sent ice water slithering down Al’s spine to pool in the bottom of his stomach. </p><p>Suddenly, he didn’t need to see the other side of the Hunter’s face to know what symbol would mark the fabric there. He didn’t need any more knowledge to know that they <em> needed to go </em>. </p><p>King Bradley.</p><p>Wrath.</p><p>With a deep, steadying breath, Al tightened his fingers around Ed’s; he couldn’t afford to lose his brother again. He turned, caught his eye, and nodded.</p><p>They ran.</p><p>Across the world, on the other side of The Pale City, the Thin Man watched. There were eyes everywhere, of course. Whether he wanted them to be or not. It was curious, he thought, he couldn't remember if one of them had been blonde before, he didn't think they had been. But he also knew somewhere deep beneath the static that flickered across his skin like the remnant of a warm touch, that he'd seen that shade of gold before.</p><p>There was something strange about This time. He couldn't see the Before. He could always see The Before. It's what he did; he sat, and he waited, and he watched. </p><p>After all, this had all happened before.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>no ones having a good time</p><p>except me<br/>im having a GREAT time</p></blockquote></div></div>
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